Pebbles
by RiverOtter1
Summary: Being the story of a mother and her son, a pond full of pebbles, and the path of letting go. Epilogue up. Please Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry it's been so long – I've missed you all! Well, here's yet another one-shot, which seem to be all I can write lately. Pretty much the main point of it is symbolism, so be prepared for that. :) The main characters are Gilraen and Estel, although Gilraen doesn't have a spot on the character list. I don't have much more to say than that, so let's get on with it. :) **_

_**Enjoy! **_

_*************_

Gilraen woke with a start.

Peering around in confusion, her eyes swept through the veil of shadow cloaking the room. Trying in vain to locate the body of whatever had woken her, she sighed and rolled over. The blankets rustled grumpily, as she twisted and curled in an attempt to get comfortable.

Finally giving up, and realizing that falling back to sleep was useless, the woman brushed the quilt off of herself and slipped out from under the warm embrace of her bed.

Stretching tired and sore limbs, she hastily donned a thin silk robe.

Where she was going, Gilraen didn't exactly know. All she knew was the dull aching in the pit of her heart, trying to tell her that something was not right.

Smoothing down her tangled locks of wispy brown hair, the woman softly exited the room, smiling as the door closed with a tiny 'click'.

Looking cautiously into the hall with a mixture of satisfaction and wariness, the woman tiptoed down the corridor, her bare feet padding softly against the floor.

It was late, nearing dawn, she figured.

Suddenly, Gilraen froze.

A feeling, more than a sound, seemed to almost be emanating from the pale, oak door at the end of the hall. Feeling a wild sense of excitement, the woman tiptoed down the hall, holding in bated breath.

As she crept towards the door, she felt a soft twinge in her heart. The feeling radiating from the door seemed almost_... lost_. Sad, depressed, miserable.

Frowning in sympathy, Gilraen lifted a pale hand and tapped softly on the door. Just loud enough that if someone were awake inside, they would hear it, but just soft enough not to wake anyone.

To her surprise, a small voice whispered back at her.

"Come in,"

Slowly striding into the room, the woman tucked a loose stroke of hair behind her ear. A figure sat hunched on the edge of their bed, feet dangling and head bent in misery. The face looked up with sparkling eyes, and Gilraen smiled softly as she recognized her son.

Mentally kicking herself for not realizing that it was indeed her son's room she had been drawn to, Gilraen slowly bent to the child's height, tipping his chin in her slender hand.

"What is the matter, my child?" Her soft voice cradled Estel's ears, and he could have smiled, had he not been so weighted with depression.

"Nothing,"

Gilraen furrowed her brow, as she realized that the child was deliberately avoiding her eyes.

"My child, tell me the truth," Gilraen took one of Estel's hands, and held it tenderly in her own. "What troubles you?"

The boy's shoulders sagged, and he rubbed his eye with a cold hand. By the looks of his face, he seemed to be deeply in thought about something. His brow furrowed, and his eyes darted upon the ground. Finally looking up, the child met Gilraen's eye.

"We are..." The boy pursed his lips, struggling to find the right word. "..._different,_" He finished quietly.

With the patience and warmth that could only come from a mother, Gilraen smiled gently.

"Why can I not be like everyone else? Why am I so..." The boy trailed off again, and looked back into Gilraen's eyes. _"...different_?"

"Everyone is different, Estel. That is what makes us special." Gilraen gently eased onto the bed beside Estel, and held him close. "We are not elves, yes, but that does not mean we should be ashamed of who we are."

The child snuggled closer into his mother.

"But, I can't let go of the thought. I can't just let go... of how different we are..."

Gilraen stroked Estel's smooth hair.

"But you must," She murmured.

Brown eyes met grey, and Estel eased back onto the bed.

Gilraen smiled.

Estel did not.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the child spoke. One word, yet in it, every ounce of doubt and sadness resided.

"How?"

Gilraen stood up in a second, and turned to face the child on the bed. Holding out a hand to Estel, she smiled.

"Pebbles,"

*******************************************************

Estel sighed, weariness clouding around him like a cloak, pressing on his limbs, and begging him to rest. They had been walking for what seemed like hours in the still breath of night. Moonlight trickled onto the path before them, and the faint whisper of the trees reached his ears.

Finally, Gilraen stopped.

A small pond sat not feet away, the starlight glistening and glinting in its glassy face. Reeds sprouted from its banks, and the sweet trill of a frog reached the child's ear. And all along the shoreline, pebbles sat.

Gilraen smiled.

Estel did not.

She looked down at Estel, motioning with a slender hand to sit. Shrugging, the boy did so. Gently lowering to the ground, Gilraen looked at Estel with a gentle radiance. A silvery light, almost like the moon, Estel reasoned.

And for a time, the two sat, not bothered by the chilled kiss of the breeze, nor of the soft song of the frogs. It was truly a peaceful night. The serene song of night was finally broken when Gilraen tore her gaze from the sweet scene before them.

Gilraen smiled.

Estel did not.

"Hold out your hands," Gilraen's gentle voice was lifted by the wind.

Resisting the temptation to roll his eyes, the child did as he was told.

"Your hands," Gilraen murmured. "They are your heart,"

Frowning in confusion, the child crinkled his brow.

With a steady hand, the woman reached to the earth around them, and gently picked up a small stone. Her soft fingers seemed to caress it, as she tenderly gazed at its smooth face.

"The pebbles," the woman whispered. "Are like your troubles. They are your worries,"

She slowly placed the stone in Estel's open palm.

Reaching down and lifting another stone from the cold ground, Gilraen held it up as well.

"The pebbles are your worries,"

She dropped the stone into his hand. And Gilraen picked up another, and placed it in Estel's hands. Another following, another following, until Estel's hand was filled to the brim with pebbles.

"Stand," Estel's mother whispered.

This time, Estel did not question. Standing slowly, careful not to drop even a single stone, the child looked at his mother for guidance.

"Now," she whispered. "Pick up the flower,"

Estel was terribly confused. His gaze drifted to the single bloom standing idly at the pond's edge, bothered little by the slippery mud surrounding it. It was a pale, crimson pink, and seemed to almost glow in the star light.

"I-I can't," Estel said blandly.

"Why?"

The child turned a confused eye towards his mother.

"I just _can't,_" He said again, stressing the meaning of his words.

"And why is that?" His mother looked down at him with a gentle gaze.

"Because," Estel sighed. "When my hand is full pebbles, I can't ..."

Estel trailed away, the full meaning of what he had just said hitting him.

"When my hand is full of pebbles..." he whispered. "I can't pick up the flowers..." His voice was barely audible.

For in that second, Estel realized what she meant. When his heart was full of worry, he couldn't hold onto the good things. The things that mattered. And in that tiny moment of self discovery, the child knew what he had to do.

Slowly walking to the pond's edge, he looked down at the glassy water.

Closing his eyes, he positioned his full hands over the still pond.

And Estel let go.

He let go, of all the troubles and misery he had felt. Sighing as he felt the pebbles fall, and his grief leave, the child opened his eyes. Instead of looking down into the water to watch the pebbles fall, he turned, and with a new spring in his step, bent down.

With a gentle hand, the boy picked up the flower.

Holding it out to the woman, he nodded.

And with shining eyes, his mother took it.

As the two slowly walked back, no longer weighted by sorrow and by pebbles, they held hands.

Gilraen was smiling.

And beside her, holding onto his mother's hand, Estel was smiling too.

_***************_

_**A/N: Thanks so much for reading – I really appreciate your time! **_

_**Happy Writing! **_

_**-RiverOtter1**_


	2. Epilogue

_**A/N: So, it turns out that I've written another chapter to the story that originally was supposed to be a one-shot. I just want to give an enormous thank you to VeronicaD13, who gave me the idea for this chapter. You really are the best! **_

_**I also want to thank the other reviewers – you guys made my day. **_

_**So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the second chapter/epilogue of Pebbles. **_

_**************************************************************_

Long ago, the moon had watched the child and his mother as they shared the night and each other's company. Now, that very same moon watches with a gentle gaze, as the child who had learned, now does the teaching.

The boy, now a man, strides with ease through the secluded path of a garden. Tenderly stroking velvet petals, and brushing against the gnarled, papery skins of trees, he gives a sigh.

He is looking for something, though he doesn't know what.

Something has drawn him outside, yet he hasn't found it.

Not bothered by the chilled wind, or the soft song of night, he walks on.

Finally, as though it had been waiting to make itself known all along, a small sound emanates from the deep seclusion of a grandfather oak. Stepping forward with a cautious stride, the man frowns and looks up into the leafy branches of the tree, where a figure sits.

It is his son.

Giving the smallest of sad smiles, the man slowly approaches the pale, twisted bark of the once mighty oak. Swinging up onto the branch beside his son with ease, he wraps his arms around the quivering form of the boy.

Of his son.

The child's locks of dark hair fall around his face, framing it like a velvet curtain. Tears trickle down the pale cheeks, as the man holds tight to the child.

"Tell me son, what troubles you?" The man's gentle voice soothes the child's ear.

Looking up with sorrowful eyes at his father for a moment, and then looking to the earth, the child bites his lip.

"I can't..."

Averting his gaze from that of his father, the child curls in on himself and resumes his sobs. With the strong yet gentle embrace that could only come from a father, the man scoops up his child and holds him close.

"Tell me," The man's voice tickles the child's ear.

Snuggling closer to the strong frame of the father, the child gives a long, weary sigh. A sigh that you would expect to come from one much older.

"I can't," The child gives a little hiccup. "I can't do anything right."

The father looks with a sympathetic gaze into his child's eyes.

"What do you mean?"

Giving another sigh, the child seems to search his father's face.

"I try," He begins slowly "and I can never do anything right. Not my studies, not my practice, nothing! All of the stuff I'm supposed to be able to do, I can't."

Looking away, the child wipes his face with a grubby fist.

"I can't do anything right."

Holding his only son close, the man rests his chin on the child's smooth hair.

"It is the thoughts like this," The father begins, "that hold you down."

The child shakes his head.

"I do not understand."

Smiling as he ruffles the child's hair, the man bends forward to whisper in his son's ear.

"You must let go."

And as the boy turns his questioning stare to that of his father, the man sees something in his child's eye.

Something familiar.

Something that flickers so faintly, but is still there.

Something equally frustrating, and yet equally loved.

And in this moment, the man realizes what he sees.

He sees himself.

It is now, that the memory comes flooding back to him.

His mother.

His troubles.

The pebbles.

The pond.

The man slowly smiles, and remembers.

_A mother and her son, a pond full of pebbles, and the path of letting go. _

As the question he knew would be coming comes, the man closes his eyes and thinks of his mother.

"How?"

With a small tear forming in the corner of his eye, the man bends forward.

He gently takes a small pebble from the warmth of his pocket, and tenderly holds it up for his son to see.

And the man smiles.

"_Pebbles..."_

_********************_

_**A/N: Thanks so much for you time! I very much appreciate it! Another massive thank you to VeronicaD13 . **_

_**Thanks for reading! **_

_**-RiverOtter1**_


End file.
